


Creature Comfort

by very



Category: Servamp
Genre: Cooking, Eve/Servamp Relationship, Gen, Minor Blood Drinking, Minor Ogling, Napping, Roommates, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2587229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/very/pseuds/very
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuro's not a cat. He's not a man. But he is a terrible roommate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Creature Comfort

As a child, Mahiru had never thought of himself as the kind of person to keep a pet. The idea of being responsible for a living, breathing creature had filled him with a vague sense of panic: who would allow a child to care for a pet? And yet his classmates would come to school bursting with stories about their goldfish, about their hamsters, about their dogs: how cute the nose of their hamster, how shiny the scales of their fish, how soft the coat of their dog. How they would offer treat after treat in hopes of teaching a new trick. How their parents would scold them if they forgot to feed the fish before sitting down for dinner. How gross it was to have to clean a hamster cage once a week, and the merits of paying a younger sibling to do the dirty work. How much of a pain it was to have to walk a dog three times a day, and even more on weekends. 

Then the stories would slow, and then they would stop, and one day the classmate would be asked about their pet and they would laugh, with a voice sharp-edged and grating, and say their parents thought a dog was too much work and that they had sent it back to the pound, or that their hamster had escaped and had disappeared to parts unknown, or that their goldfish had suddenly been found floating at the top of its bowl and been summarily flushed down the toilet. 

Pets, Mahiru learned, were troublesome. They were disposable. They were adopted on a whim, and lost or given up as easily as they had been acquired. It was a shameful and distasteful way to treat a living creature, and he'd never once had the impulse to try and attempt to do better himself. 

When he'd seen what he'd thought was a cat, he had made his choice because there was no choice: of all the hundreds of people who had seen that tired, bedraggled little kitten, no one else had stopped to help it. Everyone else had been able to thoughtlessly turn away, assuming someone else would take time out of their day to do the right thing. And so Mahiru had, because this is what he does: he'll take the classroom's trash down to the incinerator, he'll paint a new banner for the basketball club, he'll spend hours researching on the internet how to design and assemble a balloon arch shaped like a pair of palm trees for the class café because no one else could be bothered. 

To adopt the cat was the decision of an instant, but he'd spent the next day planning out the details: he'd sacrificed his oldest blanket to stuff a basket for a bed, he'd spent his lunch hour in the library reading books about properly raising cats from kittenhood to old age, he'd looked up local vet clinics to see which accepted cats so he'd be able to arrange for immunisations. And by the time he had stopped by the grocery store to pick up a tin of cat food to bring home with him, he'd found the focused and slightly panicked coolness underlying his thoughts had begun to warm; he'd thought of Kuro not as the cat, but his cat. 

And now he has found that Kuro is not a cat but a man — not a man, but a vampire. A servamp. And instead of the life Mahiru had been planning with a pet, he must now build a life with a roommate, and he's had little experience with that. His uncle is gone for most of the year, spending fortnights and sometimes months away at a time, and when he is present, it's easy to expand the cooking and cleaning Mahiru does for himself to cover the both of them. 

But Kuro's not an uncle. He's not family. He's not even a friend. Instead he is….

And here things become difficult to define. 

Mahiru remembers coming home that first day to see Kuro in his humanoid form curled up in front of the television, surrounded by half-empty microwave containers, and he knows there will be no chore charts or division of labour between them. 

Not a pet, not a friend, not a roommate. He is an unsolved problem, and for once the easy answers that elude everyone else elude Mahiru as well. 

* * *

Kuro is not a cat, and yet for most hours of most days it's how he spends his time. Some of it is enforced, like the time he spends in Mahiru's bag at school, but even at home with the drapes drawn to block out all sunlight he overwhelmingly chooses his feline form. Napping is his favoured activity, as is to be expected of the servamp of sloth, and for that, Mahiru supposes, his feline body probably is better suited. Kuro most often can be found curled up in the basket next to Mahiru's bed, but Mahiru's come to expect him anywhere throughout the house: on a zabuton in front of the TV dead to the world while two c-grade idol groups fail miserably against each other on a raucous quiz show; sprawled out in an ungainly mess across Mahiru's desk chair, one back leg sticking out; lying on his back and exposing his belly as he lazes atop Mahiru's laptop. When questioned about that last choice, Kuro had said it was because it was warm, and so they had come to a compromise with the acquisition of a heating pad. Leaving it plugged in so much of the time made Mahiru twinge with a faint sense of guilt at the wasted electricity, but it had been hopeless trying to convince Kuro to simply turn it on before settling down. 

"Too annoying," Kuro had declared. "Why should I bother switching forms just for opposable thumbs when you've got them all the time?"

For all the bother it had caused, the heating pad isn't even Kuro's favourite place for a nap. Instead it's his basket, still exactly where Mahiru had placed it that first night right next to his bed. 

"You can put it wherever you want," Mahiru had reminded him. "And we can get you a real bed for whenever my uncle's not home." 

"Nah," Kuro had said. "I'm good." And that was that: any further attempts to offer Kuro greater hospitality were invariably responded to with "Eurgh, why bother?" or "Meh, this works". 

* * *

For the first time since their contract has allowed them independence, Mahiru goes to school alone without Kuro tucked away inside his bag, and comes home to a silent apartment. 

The living room shows no sign of Kuro's occupancy: the television is off, the floor is clear of garbage and instant food containers, and a bright ray of sunshine slices between two drapes and casts a cheery swath of light across the living area. 

Mahiru walks slowly through the apartment, his still-alien Eve sense thrumming inside of him like a second heartbeat. 

He knows where Kuro is before he finds him, but foreknowledge does nothing to allow him to stifle his reflexive annoyance at seeing Kuro curled up on his bed as innocently as if he were an ordinary kitten — and on his pillow, to cap it all off. 

"Kuro," Mahiru says. 

Kuro's ears twitch, swivelling towards Mahiru's voice for only a moment, though long enough for Mahiru to catch the movement. "Oi," Mahiru calls again, a little louder. 

Kuro's eyes open and he slowly blinks. He gazes balefully at Mahiru. 

"I said you could have a bed of your own," Mahiru reminds him, hoping to lead Kuro into a conversation. 

Kuro's eyes drift closed once more. "I have my own bed," he murmurs, cat's voice thick with sleep. 

Mahiru's cheeks tingle with the threat of impending warmth. "A real bed, not the basket. We can lay out the futon for you." 

Kuro stretches, tiny body trembling as he arches his back and flicks his tail upward, and then his feline form melts into an ashen shadow that pours itself across Mahiru's bed and solidifies into Kuro's humanoid form. 

His gaze is heavy-lidded; his bangs are mussed; his hood drapes down across his forehead as if weighted, making his horns point dead ahead. "I like the basket," Kuro says. 

"Then sleep there," Mahiru says, and he knows his response is too quick and his tone is too sharp to be anything but rude, but what else can he say? It seems rude to have a sentient being sleep in a basket like a pet, but he's offered use of the futon half a dozen times by this point and if Kuro continues to refuse, what can he do? And yet Mahiru can't shake the feeling of being a bad host for not providing adequate facilities. 

Kuro's mild expression seems to indicate he's taken no offence  though whether because he's simply not awake enough for the discourtesy to register or because it sincerely doesn't bother him is undetermined. "I do when you're home," Kuro says. 

Mahiru rolls words around inside his head as he tries to figure out what to say to deter him. Deterring Kuro is so often a frustrating task — especially as he shouldn't need to in the first place, as the situation should be self-evident. And yet Kuro has this way of brushing off any attempt to suggest he ought to be able to read the atmosphere or intuit basic human needs. 

"Can you please not sleep in my bed while I'm gone?" Mahiru asks finally. 

"Sure," Kuro says easily, as if all Mahiru had to do was ask. "What about while you're home?" 

It takes a moment for his question to properly register; it's the sort of clarification normal people would never require. "What? No." 

"Stingy," Kuro declares, drawling voice decidedly unimpressed. "I don't take up a lot of space, and you're warm, and you'll sleep better and won't keep me up all night." 

"Me, keep you up?" Mahiru says, incredulous that even Kuro could have such a lack of awareness. 

"You lie there for hours, and when you do finally sleep, you toss and turn and grind your teeth," Kuro accuses him. 

"I do not!" Mahiru protests. True, he's never been the type to be able to fall asleep moments after his head hits the pillow, but he's never thought of that as an inconvenience. Instead it's a bonus: it's dedicated, consistent time every day where he is alone with his thoughts and can plan ahead to anticipate tomorrow's problems without the distraction of the daily busywork of homework, housework, and the internet. 

Kuro cocks an eyebrow, but that seems to be the limit of what he can be bothered to express. "It's annoying." 

Mahiru can feel his face heat with his annoyance. "Well, we're stuck with each other, so you'd better get used to it," he bites out, turning around hopefully before Kuro's noticed his flush. "I'm going to make dinner." 

"Awesome," Kuro says. "I'm hungry." 

Mahiru steps through the doorway, but hears no sign of Kuro stirring. Turning back, he sees Kuro still prone on the bed, eyes nearly halfway closed. 

Of course Kuro can't see how a normal person would understand the unsaid expectation that now is time for him to leave Mahiru's room, or at least get off the bed. 

Mahiru closes his eyes and counts to three as he reminds himself that Kuro is not a human being and barely has a passing acquaintanceship with even the shallowest concepts of social grace. 

"How about you go watch TV?" Mahiru says, summoning just enough patience to formulate his sentence as a suggestion and not a straight-up demand. "They've got that thing on tonight with the singing robot girl you like." 

That seems to work; Kuro opens his eyes and draws himself up to a standing position with a smoothness and grace that belies his previous lethargy. "She's an android," Kuro says, as if there's a difference. 

Mahiru suffers a momentary spike of pique, but he's willing to call this a win and let it go if it gets Kuro in the living room. "I'll go close the drapes," Mahiru offers instead, and heads to the living room to do just that. 

Mahiru goes to grab a zabuton but Kuro, as usual, plunks down right on the tatami. He tosses it to him anyway. "In case you want it," Mahiru says. 

"Okay," Kuro says, which, while it isn't 'thank you', is at least better than the 'yeah, sure' Kuro gave him yesterday, so it's at least progress of a sort. 

With the rice cooker already in the midst of its work thanks to the timer Mahiru set this morning, all that's left to do is to cut and steam the vegetables, fry the fish, mix and reduce the sauce, and select a few choice pickles from the tub in the fridge. Some concentration is required to ensure all tasks will complete at the same time, but it's a simple problem with known variables that Mahiru's managed hundreds of times and so it allows his mind to fall blessedly blank for a good thirty minutes as he cuts, stirs, flips, and arranges the meal's components into a pleasing and harmonious whole. 

Mahiru lays out dinner for two at the table. In their first few days together Kuro'd just taken his food to eat in front of the TV, or even more gratingly hadn't bothered to get up at all and had waited for Mahiru to bring meals to him, but Kuro had quickly gotten in the habit of sitting with him at the table for meals from beginning to end. He's even begun to observe the most basic social niceties, acknowledging the food and Mahiru's efforts with startlingly sincere declarations of "thanks for the food". And it had been… nice, for lack of a better term. To eat a home-cooked meal with someone, it was nice. Now that Mahiru's in high school his uncle's away more often than not, and sharing his lunch at school with friends can hardly compare to sharing a fresh-made dinner with someone at home. 

Mahiru walks into the living room where Kuro stares intently at the screen. Some anime is playing, the screen alight with the bright colours and cheap animation of a battle show for children, but Kuro looks engrossed. He always looks engrossed, no matter the subject matter. Two nights ago Mahiru had woken in the middle of the night and gotten up for some water, and had come across Kuro sprawled out on his stomach in front of the TV, his shadow pooling around him and lapping at him in lazy waves as he gazed sloe-eyed at the flickering screen. Onscreen had been two old men with the overwrought vocabulary and the underwhelming costuming of a low-budget Edo-period drama ponderously debating legal reform. Mahiru had watched him watch them for what must have been a good five or six minutes before the commercial break finally arrived to save them from the tedium. 

"Dinner's ready," Mahiru says. 

Kuro turns off the TV with a single economic motion, poking at the remote as it lays on the floor without bothering to pick it up. "Fish?" he asks, the warmth of what could be interest in his voice. Mahiru's not really sure what Kuro's preferences are, beyond his usual response of 'instant ramen', but if he does happen to stumble across something Kuro likes, it'd be no hardship to edit his shopping to suit. 

"Salmon," Mahiru says. 

Kuro's shadows momentarily roil before dissipating, and for a flickering instant Mahiru imagines he can see a tail swish behind him. "Awesome," Kuro says, and Mahiru resolves to change tomorrow's menu from chicken to tuna. 

* * *

Mahiru does the dishes, tidies the kitchen, and settles down in his room to do his homework. It's nothing complicated, just some light reading and short-form answers for his History and Japanese worksheets, and he's done well before bedtime. He's briefly tempted to go watch TV, but at this time of night Kuro's probably enthralled by some sort of deeply suspect and socially irredeemable otaku bait, so he writes that off as a loss and surfs the Internet instead. It's even useful: he reads the local news, and is even able to identify a supposed bicycle accident as a likely vampire attack. Then he types "vampire attack tokyo" into Google and gets a mountain of schlocky phone novels, manga, and creepypasta stories, and is so embarrassed that he thought he might actually get useful information out of his query that he gives up on the Internet entirely and just goes to bed half an hour early. 

* * *

Mahiru's still awake when Kuro pads into the bedroom on his delicate cat's paws. He hears more than sees Kuro leap into the basket, bell jingling, though his eyes are slowly adjusting to the dim room lit only by the slimmest sliver of silver moonlight escaping from the outside of the leftmost drape. 

"Let me get you the futon," Mahiru attempts to say, though he's cottonmouthed with disuse so that even in his own ears all he can hear is a slur that vaguely sounds like 'nfgh f'ton'. 

Kuro lets out a non-committal meow, and Mahiru can make out the soft void of Kuro's shadowy shape as he gently pats out a place for himself in the blanket-swathed basket. 

Mahiru swallows hard, his twin needs to both be a good host and solve outstanding problems threatening to snowball his disquiet into anxiety. "Or if you don't want a futon, we could get you a cot. Or a bed. We'll figure something out for when my uncle's at home." 

Kuro steps over the basket onto the floor. "If you wanna share, that's fine with me," Kuro says, approaching the bed in a few economical steps and leaping up with a surprising spry grace. "You were complaining before." 

Sharing is decidedly not what Mahiru meant, but as he's trying to think of an unambiguous but inoffensive way to tell Kuro to back off, Kuro's already plunked himself down in a lump. 

It's a ridiculous thing that Mahiru's embarrassed to think even in the privacy of his own mind, but the sight of Kuro tucked tidily at his feet curled up into a little cat-croissant, the fork of his tail curving in a pleasing arc to rest against his little furry cheek, is so cute that the idea of disturbing him feels instinctively wrong. 

Inside his chest he can feel the slow, steady thrum of Kuro's own heartbeat atop his, at first syncopating with Mahiru's own faster rhythm, then merging fully as Mahiru's slows to match. 

Mahiru's thoughts begin to grow hazy and slow; he vaguely remembers he'd meant to write a list of things he needed from the… hardware store? Drug store? No, not drug store; he could have easily stopped by during the week on his way home from school. But there was something he needed to pick up, nothing critical, just something he'd noticed they were low on. 

Lightbulbs, he remembers vaguely. Not the cheap kind that can be found anywhere but the low-watt energy-efficient bulbs that give off a pure white light; Kuro'd mentioned once that the yellow ones made his skin itch. 

It's a quick trip, just five stops away, and Mahiru drifts to sleep with train timetables ticking away in the forefront of his mind before the lethargy of sleep steals them from him. 

* * *

Mahiru wakes with a start, a heavy snore caught in the back of his throat, and his first thought is streak of wordless embarrassment at having been caught snoring. He's never snored before, not to his own knowledge, and the idea of it makes him feel hideously indolent.

It only lasts for a moment, though, before his cocoon of blankets makes the persuasive argument that enjoying his current state of warmth and comfort is a much more pressing concern than serving in obligation to shame.

Mahiru stretches without getting up, arching his back and shivering pleasantly. He collapses bonelessly to the bed, ready to claim just a few more minutes of sleep, but a voice not his yelps out "Ow!" and startles him up to a sitting position.

Mahiru twists around and spies Kuro in his cat form, ears drooping, tail flicking very nearly straight up. "Watch the tail," Kuro says mournfully.

Of course, Mahiru thinks, letting himself fall back to the bed, his sudden impact forcing a sigh from his lungs. "Sorry," Mahiru says dutifully, blinking against the unmerciful brilliance of the sun's light into the room. "I didn't realise you'd still be here." It's a hollow excuse, and rings just as hollow once spoken, but there's something off-putting about having to be on guard in one's own bed.

Then the significance of having full daylight in his bedroom hits, and Mahiru's heart starts pounding away in a panic as he frantically twists around to spy the clock. "Ten forty?" Mahiru chokes out, galled. "Seriously?"

Kuro settles down at his hip, tucking his paws neatly out of sight under himself. "You didn't set an alarm," he says.

Mahiru grits his teeth for a ment, bracing himself against his own thoughtlessness. "You could have woken me once you noticed," he accuses.

The tip of Kuro's tail twitches, spoiling his perfect cat-loaf. "You always set your alarm. I figured you had a reason why you didn't. Besides, you needed the sleep."

Mahiru won't deny he did; it's been a stressful couple of months, and he hasn't had the luxury of time to do more than handle the current crisis and attempt futilely to plan for the next. "I didn't need three hours," he says mournfully, shutting his eyes decisively as if he'll be able to will the day to begin anew once he opens them.

The sun beats down relentlessly upon him, as if daring him to try, and it's easier to simply lie there. His pillows are soft, his blankets are warm, and with his homework and laundry complete and the hardware store open until eight tonight, there isn't actually any pressing need requiring him to get out of bed right this second, or any real reason for him to feel guilty about not getting up at eight as he has on every other Saturday since he was seven years old.

Mahiru's asleep within the minute.

* * *

There is a pressure against his chest, a warm weight and a low, deep thrumming that comes not from within him, but from without. He reaches up to find its source and his hand brushes against soft, silky fur. He gives it a gentle stroke, fingers sinking lushly into the thick coat, and the body under it is as warm and dense as a loaf of freshly-baked bread. His efforts are rewarded by a heavy purr rumbling thickly against him, and while Mahiru would say that he's never wanted or yearned for a pet, he can admit in his heart of hearts that he has always loved cats.

Mahiru doesn't have a cat.

Mahiru freezes in place, hand stiffening as he wonders whether it would be more obvious and jarring to remove his hand or if he should simply pretend he wasn't just doing what he was doing.

The purring atop his chest stops suddenly. "Don't stop," Kuro says, his tone almost petulant. "No one's pet me in days."

Mahiru can remember the look of lordly satisfaction Kuro gains whenever the girls in class swarm him for pets and cuddles; apparently his enjoyment of the act is even simpler than being the cynosure of a coterie of giggling girls.

Kuro makes a gruff little meow of annoyance. "Urgh, you're so stingy. Fine, don't," he says, his petulance so naked that Mahiru can picture the way his lips purse when he's in his humanoid form.

Mahiru reaches up to lift Kuro off his chest with both hands and set him down on the bed a safe distance away, and makes use of his sudden burst of energy to draw himself upright. "I'm getting up," Mahiru says firmly, pushing off the bed and getting to his feet for the first time in — crap, nearly twelve hours, according to the clock.

"Oh, good," Kuro says, getting to his feet. For a moment Mahiru thinks he might actually be getting up to change form, but Kuro merely pads over to the Mahiru-shaped space on the bed and plunks himself down in the warm spot Mahiru left behind. "Can you go make me something to eat? I'm starving."

Mahiru doesn't even try to mask his supremely unimpressed expression, wasted as it is on Kuro who has his eyes closed. "You know you can go get something yourself whenever you want," he points out.

"I don't have opposable thumbs," Kuro says as mournfully as if it were a real limitation that Kuro couldn't fix anytime he darn well pleased. "A cup noodle is all I want in life. Please?" he asks.

The novelty of Kuro employing human politeness hits Mahiru where he's vulnerable, and against his better judgement he heaves a sigh and says "Oh all right, fine. And how exactly did you plan on eating it in that form?"

"I can't change with the sun on me like this," Kuro says plaintively.

Mahiru feels a momentary stab of guilt; he shouldn't need to be reminded at this point. He strides over to the drapes, drawing them all the way shut and ensuring there's a healthy overlap to prevent stray beams. "There we go," he says.

Kuro changes forms in a bloom of shadows, with wisps that cling faintly to him like smoke. But changing from cat to human seems to be all the effort Kuro wants to expend at the moment; instead of getting up to go watch TV, he merely stretches out to take up even more space atop Mahiru's bed.

Kuro's an indolent mess, hood pulled back to reveal a head of ruffled hair, his jacket rucked up at his waist to reveal a slender slip of pale skin, his legs spread without care to how positively indecent it might look.

Mahiru rips his gaze away, turning back to the doorway. "I'll tell you when lunch is ready," he says tersely, and leaves the room before he can have any more stupid thoughts.

Mahiru goes to the kitchen and sets water on the stove to boil. He rinses a handful of bean sprouts, gently places a few sheets of dried kelp into a shallow bowl of water to rehydrate, and fetches some spring onions from the crisper to slice a few strips lengthwise into delicate strips for a garnish, and then the rest crosswise into tiny pieces for taste.

He's resolutely not thinking about Kuro in his bed.

Kuro is Kuro, and will do as he likes. He has no understanding of all of the unstated but nevertheless understood codes that underlie basic human behaviour. It's pointless to expect him to understand the significance of anything, to know which things are never done, to anticipate the sort of instinctual response that certain behaviours might—

Not that it matters. It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't matter what Kuro does. It shouldn't matter what Kuro looks like. That Mahiru even notices things like that speaks more of Mahiru than it does Kuro.

The worst part is that normally Mahiru does ignore these things; throughout middle school he was spared the indignities and inconveniences his fellow classmates inflicted upon themselves in pursuit of whatever person had caught their attentions. The other boys had spent lunch hours commiserating with each other, first about the difficulty of the pursuit and then later about the pains of maintaining a relationship, and that had been more than enough to convince Mahiru that the entire process was needlessly messy, overcomplicated, and pointless.

And yet Mahiru can't be entirely to blame for his distraction. None of these vampires have any idea of appropriate behaviour. Mahiru remembers meeting Lily for the first time and his brazen flash of flesh, and for an instant Mahiru can almost picture Kuro in the same pose, the wispy shadows of his jacket melting away into nothing, baring his shoulders, and Mahiru feels his cheeks burn with embarrassment and shame in equal measures.

Then he slices the side of his thumb open.

Mahiru drops the knife, reflexively clapping his other hand over his cut, and he bites out a swear word as the sharp stab of pain blossoms into a low, throbbing sting that radiates across his whole hand. Bright red drops drip atop the cutting board, staining the spring onions, and his irritation at being so careless as to injure himself is eclipsed by his irritation at being so careless as to contaminate the food.

Heavy footsteps thud behind him, and he hears the jingle of Kuro's bell as it bounces on its necklace. "Are you putting blood in it?" Kuro asks brightly, as if that's possibly a thing anyone would do ever.

"No!" Mahiru snaps. "I'll clean it up."

"Aww," Kuro says. "Come on, don't be stingy. You're already bleeding; don't waste it. You only feed me when you want me to fight, and it's been almost two weeks since the last time."

"Don't say it like I'm depriving you," Mahiru says. "I'm making you lunch on demand."

"I know," Kuro says, which decidedly isn't a 'thank you', but at least he's acknowledging Mahiru's efforts. "Human food isn't blood, though."

Mahiru frowns. "Do you need more?" he asks.

"Well…" Kuro trails off, which Mahiru is pretty sure he can interpret as a 'no'. "You did contract to be my Eve. And I fight whenever you want."

"You're the reason we get into fights in the first place!" Mahiru protests.

"You're the one who wants to save everyone," Kuro says, as if it's a character flaw about which Mahiru should feel contrite.

"You're not starving," Mahiru says.

"At least don't waste it," Kuro pleads, sidling up next to him.

It's disgusting and unsanitary by any measure — but then Kuro has been drinking his blood on a regular basis, so what difference does it make at this point? And so Mahiru assembles Kuro's bowl of ramen, cracking open a raw egg, laying in strips of kelp, adding a handful of bean sprouts, and he finds himself sprinkling in the bloodied pieces of spring onion despite himself.

Kuro's eyes are half-lidded and he gazes at the bowl with undisguised longing. And yet Mahiru finds himself hesitating, as if his task remains undone.

Kuro lifts his gaze to meet Mahiru's and Mahiru feels the last of his compunctions fall away. He takes the knife, and before he can give himself another moment to think better of it, he draws the blade straight across his wrist and clenches his hand into a fist, encouraging his blood to drip down in the the bowl below.

Kuro's lips part and his irises dilate sharply, eyes darkening with unmistakable lust. He holds himself with perfect stillness as he watches Mahiru bleed, his only movement the lengthening of his teeth as they sharpen into points.

Mahiru's heart rattles around in his chest and his arm begins to tremble, but he's all right. Everything is all right. Kuro's not going to hurt him. Kuro's not going to take anything from him that he doesn't willingly give.

"Enough," Kuro says at last, his voice husky and thick, and when he reaches for Mahiru, Mahiru drops the knife on the counter and sucks in a keening breath as he lets it happen.

Kuro leans in and draws his tongue across the line of blood streaking down Mahiru's arm, the saliva on his fangs making them glint in the kitchen's artificial light, and Mahiru waits, breath bated, for the usual searing sting of Kuro's mouthful of sharp teeth tearing him open.

But Kuro doesn't. Kuro's tongue traces delicately along Mahiru's knife wound, and his lips purse against his skin in with a sound that could almost be mistaken for a kiss.

Kuro draws back, and the Eve shackle bursts into existence around Mahiru's wrist for a single instant before flaring out just as quickly, and Mahiru's wrist is left without trace of injury.

Taking in a slow, shuddering breath, Mahiru pulls open the drawer in front of him, snatches up a pair of chopsticks, and sets them down on the counter in front of Kuro with a sharp clack. 

"Here," Mahiru says. "Bon appétit."

Kuro wastes no time at all in picking up his chopsticks and his bowl. "Thanks for lunch!" he says with uncustomary enthusiasm, and heads off to the living room. Moments later Mahiru hears the TV click on, and indistinct chatter fills the air.

Mahiru sets about the business of cleaning up after himself, filling the sink partway with soapy water and scrubbing off the few items he'd dirtied. It's a quick process, one he's done hundreds of times before, and requires just enough focus that his mind falls comfortably blank by the time he's done.

He drains the sink, and when he dries his hands he finds they no longer shake.

Mahiru goes to the living room. He forgoes grabbing a zabuton and instead sits down directly on the tatami next to Kuro. Kuro's made a considerable dent in his meal, nearly two-thirds done already, and only a scant few stained beansprouts serve as a sign of what had adulterated Kuro's meal.

Kuro's a vampire, Mahiru reflects. He drinks blood. Mahiru is contracted to provide him with blood, which in its own way is reassuring, as it means Kuro can't possibly need more than Mahiru could comfortably give or Kuro would have drained him dry the first time and then moved on to find a new Eve. Though granted, that does sound like it would require vastly more motivation than Kuro possesses.

All things considered, as demanding as Kuro can be in other ways, he's been remarkably restrained in requesting this of Mahiru. 

"How is it?" Mahiru asks.

Kuro swallows his current mouthful. "Awesome," he says in his usual drawl.

Good. That's good. That's the point, after all.

"You can tell me if you need more blood," Mahiru says, the words coming easier than he would have expected. "I'm not trying to starve you. I just don't know how much is enough, or too little, or how often. I thought it was fine with you just biting me during fights. So if you want more, just say something."

Kuro taps his chopsticks against the side of the bowl. "Not like a lot or anything, but yeah, a couple times a week would be great."

"Like this? In food? Or…" Mahiru trails off, thinking of the shadow in Kuro's eyes, of the sharpness of his fangs. "You know. Directly."

"Whichever. Whatever," Kuro says, using his chopsticks to describe a sort of indistinct and noncommittal shape in the air.

"All right," Mahiru says, then turns his gaze to the TV, where a middle-aged man is interviewing a young woman in a kimono. "What are you watching?"

"It's a tour of ryokan in Tokushima," Kuro says. "This one's famous for its lucky ghost owl. They say if it hoots outside your window that you'll soon be promoted at work."

"How'd they figure it was a ghost owl and not actually a real owl?" Mahiru asks.

"No one's ever seen it," Kuro says. "But their nicest room is said to be especially attractive to the owl. I guess part of what the extra twenty thousand a night covers is sending the chef out at two in the morning to hoot in the bushes."

Despite Kuro's usual dry tone, there's an undertone of disapproval that seems so utterly out of place on him that Mahiru can't help the laugh that escapes him. "Sounds about right," Mahiru says, and they watch the rest of the segment in companionable quiet.

* * *

Mahiru makes it to the hardware store after all, and succeeds in striking every entry off his to-do list: he replaces the lightbulbs, he scrubs the bathroom, he vacuums the bedrooms, and he slices, salts, and packs an eggplant into the pickle press.

With his homework already complete and no book particularly calling his name, Mahiru finds himself at loose ends, until he's seized by a lunatic idea: he could nap.

It's indulgent, indolent, and practically indecent after the nearly thirteen hours he spent in bed this morning, but the sheer seductiveness of the idea cannot be denied, and Mahiru goes to his bedroom with a mind to lay down for twenty or thirty minutes before it's time to start dinner.

His bed, however, is currently occupied by a certain black cat; Kuro must have migrated in sometime after Mahiru had done the vacuuming.

Mahiru contemplates for a moment the idea of simply picking Kuro up and dumping him somewhere less inconvenient, but while Kuro has taken it upon himself to sleep in the middle of the bed, he's at least curled himself up into an economical little ball. It's progress of a sort, and to be fair Mahiru doesn't normally make use of his bed during daylight hours, so it'd be needlessly rude to move him only for the sake of making a point he already knows Kuro won't bother to learn, so instead Mahiru simply grabs his pillow and settles down on one side of the bed.

Mahiru isn't a practiced napper by any means, and he'd expected he probably wouldn't even be able to fall asleep in such a short timeframe, but there is something peaceful about taking time out in the middle of the day to rest. His heartbeat and breathing slow of their own accord, but while his limbs grow heavier with every passing minute, his mind remains pleasantly clear.

Then he hears the familiar metallic whisper of a tiny clapper rolling laconically inside a silver bell, and the very faint shifting of the mattress below him tells him that Kuro's awake.

Soft, delicate fur brushes up against his hand once, twice, and then Kuro settles down at his side, radiating impossible warmth from such a tiny little body.

Mahiru's not sure if it was an invitation, but given Kuro's previous request he imagines it's at least a suggestion, and so before he can think better of it he lifts his hand and settles it gently on Kuro's back, letting his fingertips scritch him just behind his ear. The tiny body under his hand erupts in a sudden bout of fierce purring, surprisingly loud coming from such a small frame.

Inside his chest, Mahiru can feel Kuro's heart beating next to his.

Kuro's not a cat, Mahiru reflects as he strokes his soft coat, but he is catlike: he is demanding, and ofttimes requires indulgence and tribute.

Mahiru might be Eve to Kuro's servamp, but he's keenly aware that their chain shackles them both. He is Kuro's in every way that Kuro is his; they are both serving and served.

Mahiru knows there is much he doesn't know yet of this new underworld of supernatural creatures, but, as Kuro's throat rumbles under his fingertips, he has hope he may yet learn more about this creature in particular.


End file.
